


Howlers

by sanguisuga



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut, Stripper AU, do not copy to another site, first meeting AU, nobody gets hurt, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-26 20:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: A night out with work colleagues turns into something much more interesting for Mycroft Holmes...





	Howlers

**Author's Note:**

> Silly little thing that I've been working on for ages because my muse is a bitch lately. 
> 
> Anyhoo! Please read, I hope you enjoy! Please comment!
> 
> I adore you all!  
~xoxo~

Mycroft sighed heavily through his nose as he twirled his glass through the condensation on the table-top. He kept his gaze on his fingers, studiously avoiding looking at any of the faces that were surrounding him. As the youngest and newest member of the department, he had known that to refuse the invitation for ‘a bit of fun on a Friday night’ would have branded him as an instant outcast. Expecting that he would eventually be labelled as such anyway, he had almost demurred. But they had seemed sincere in their offer, and he had foolishly allowed himself to hope.

And so he had accepted, even without prior knowledge of their destination. Mycroft was confident enough in his own acting abilities to at least _ look _ like he was having a good time no matter where they might end up. But when the cab had pulled up to this particular establishment, he had felt his stomach sink down to his shoes. It was even worse when he caught the glances being thrown his way, condescension and smug mockery pulling his colleagues’ faces down into harsh, unattractive lines. 

Mycroft had lifted his head high as he had passed under the neon sign depicting a wolf baying at the moon, the name of the club outlined in garish hot pink. _ Howlers. _ As ridiculous and cliché as it was, Mycroft had long harboured a desire to at least see what all the fuss was about. That it catered to men of his particular persuasion was still a novel idea, and he had always imagined that it might be an oasis of sorts, where he might be free to openly appreciate rather than covertly yearn after. 

Although it seemed that not even a virtual gay paradise was wholly eradicated of potential dangers. While he didn’t think that the group he was with would make any outright trouble, Mycroft knew that he was in for a few hours of excruciating boasts of recent (female) conquests and not-so-subtle jabs at the ‘limp-wristed pansies’ that were up on the stage dancing for their entertainment. That the men under the spotlight were virtual ideals of muscled masculinity didn’t stop any of the cretins surrounding him from proclaiming how thoroughly they would ‘kick their arses if any of them came prancing over’. 

Mycroft felt his toes curling in his shoes as they all snickered around him, his face flaring with heat despite his best efforts at retaining his calm. He knew that he was mere moments from simply fleeing and submitting to the consequences of his cowardice on Monday morning, but all of his usual coping mechanisms were failing him badly. 

He had actually pushed his chair back a few inches, preparing to bolt, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder. Startled, Mycroft looked up into large dark eyes and took a deep breath as an instant calm washed over him. His gaze flickered up to the headband the man was wearing, the furry wolf ears flexing as the server nodded at him cautiously. 

“Silly, aren’t they?”

Mycroft nodded curtly, adding a little quirk of his lips. “I have to admit that they are much better than bunny ears, however.”

The server laughed, flashing his strong white teeth as he tilted his head at Mycroft’s drink. “Would you like another? Whisky and soda, right?”

Mycroft pursed his lips, his eyes darting around the assembled faces, all of them trying to look like they weren’t listening in. 

The server bent down slightly and lowered his voice, his posture suddenly watchful and perhaps even a little protective as he focused on Mycroft exclusively. “Light on the booze, maybe? Seems you feel you might want to stay alert, yeah?”

Mycroft felt his eyes widen and he gave a slight nod, licking his lips as the server reached for his glass. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” The server paused briefly, bending down a little closer to Mycroft’s ear, making gooseflesh ripple up the back of his neck. “If you get tired of these fuckers, just come up to the bar. Lenny’s a good bloke to chat with, and we look after our own here.”

Mycroft cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “If I abandon them, I’m sure I’ll pay for it at the office later.”

“So what?” The server straightened up from his crouch and dropped a sly wink, elevating his voice for the benefit of their audience. “Fuck ‘em.”

Mycroft watched him go, the ridiculous plush tail that was attached to his tight shorts swinging from side to side as he strode over to the bar. He left the vague smile that was lingering on his lips as he swept his eyes up and down the table, relaxing minutely as most of his colleagues stared back in muted shock. Whatever their plans for the evening had been, they certainly had not expected Mycroft to come out of his shell in any manner, much less make an impression on any of the club’s staff.

Suddenly feeling much more in control of the situation as the odious men surrounding him exchanged uneasy looks, Mycroft sat up straight and turned his attention to the stage as well as to the myriad servers, all decked out in the same silly if wonderful outfits. 

He was mildly disappointed to discover that he found most of them rather bland. Attractive, perhaps, but in a generic cookie-cutter sort of way. A little too muscle-bound, and definitely too smooth, both in face and body. The only one who stood out to him was the one who had spoken with him, who was now delivering his barely-there whisky and soda, completely ignoring the rest of the table as he breezed by with a comforting squeeze at Mycroft’s shoulder.

Mycroft disguised his snort of laughter with a delicate sip at his drink, his eyes tracking _ his _ server all around the room. He was leaner than the rest of them, his physique more reminiscent of a swimmer rather than a gym rat. He was easily the most engaging of the lot, smiling freely as he chatted with a random group here and there, or flirted with the scattered men sitting by themselves. The other servers seemed to put more stock in their perceived attractiveness than in charm, counting on vapid beauty to earn them the tips that Mycroft’s server was collecting in bundles by virtue of his smile alone. 

He lost track of him as his attention was diverted to the stage, feeling oddly detached as he watched the dancer gyrate around the pole fixed in the middle of the stage, his pecs flexing with each awkward spin and lacklustre thrust of his hips. Mycroft was startled out of his musings when his nearly empty glass was plucked from his fingers and replaced with a fresh drink. 

His server smiled at him as Mycroft cleared his throat, waiting patiently for him to gather his thoughts. Mycroft nodded up at the stage. “Do you dance?”

He found himself blinking gormlessly as his server’s cheeks went bright pink, his confident demeanour shifting into shy uncertainty. “I’m not... Really the kind that these blokes want to watch.”

“Wrong. I, for one, would love to watch you shake your arse.” Mycroft’s smile sharpened as his server’s blush deepened. “Provided it isn’t burdened with that ridiculous tail, of course.” He tilted his head toward the room at large. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but - my own present company notwithstanding - you’ve caught the attention of nearly every man in this room. You’re the prettiest of the lot by far.”

Mycroft’s stomach swooped as his server bit his bottom lip, his eyes darting around the dimly lit space. “I have been practising a routine...”

“Show me? Please?” Mycroft daringly reached out to run his fingers over the back of his server’s hand, ignoring the disbelieving hisses of his loathsome colleagues. 

The server quickly twisted his hand around, giving Mycroft’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll just - yeah.”

Mycroft smirked at the faces that were staring him down, his eyes tracking his server as he stopped at the bar, going up on his tiptoes to chat with the bartender. Apparently the aforementioned Lenny approved, as he gave a short nod after glancing in Mycroft’s direction. He sat back as his server disappeared around the corner of the stage, twisting his chair slightly so he could watch unimpeded. Mycroft raised his glass to his loathsome colleagues and waited for his personal show to begin.

After a few minutes, the bartender took up a microphone and started in on the introduction. “Tonight we have a little treat for you fine gents - some fresh blood here at Howlers! You’ve no doubt seen him hustling your drinks and I’m sure more than a few have given those luscious cheeks of his a pinch or two, but now he wants to show you all a new trick he’s been working on. Straight from the streets of Gay Paree - let’s give it up for _ Ooh La La Lestrade_!”

Mycroft giggled out of pure glee, setting his glass aside and leaning forward in his seat slightly. The platform was dark as a figure made its way from behind the curtain and came to a halt centre stage. Mycroft blinked in the near blackness, wondering if that was the outline of a top hat that he could see.

Then the spotlight flickered into life, and oh yes indeed, his delightful little server was decked out in a full tuxedo, black tie and tails and all. The top hat was tilted at a rakish angle and he even sported a walking stick, leaning on it impudently. The costume wasn’t exactly fitted to him properly as it was a bit loose in the shoulders and trousers, but the style still suited him beautifully. 

Mycroft barely remembered to blink as the music started, his lips quirking up as the beat of ‘Puttin’ on the Ritz’ by Taco filled the air. Both the hat and the stick were quickly discarded, and Mycroft squirmed a little in his seat as ‘Ooh La La Lestrade’ winked at him from underneath the dark fringe that had fallen in his face. 

Although he wasn’t exactly the best dancer, he was still more animated than most of the men that Mycroft had been watching out of the corner of his eye all evening. He used his pretty face to full advantage, his eyes wide and innocent in one moment and hungrily flirting in the next as he travelled over the stage, giving every patron he saw a bit of personal attention as he slipped his jacket from his shoulders.

His cummerbund quickly followed the tuxedo jacket, and a few buttons on his shirt were loosened before he swung himself up on the pole, flinging himself around and ending up hanging upside down from his knees. He spent about a half a minute posing in various positions up on the pole, coming down as the music began to taper off. From one breathless second to another, his trousers had been ripped from his body, leaving him in just a wide-open shirt and the smallest garment that could be conceivably be called underwear that Mycroft had ever seen. 

He knew his face was positively awash with colour, but the heat in his cheeks was not at all impeding blood flow to somewhere much lower, leaving Mycroft in a very awkward position indeed. He could barely hear above his own thundering heartbeat as the shirt was flung to the ground, as the dancer spun around, flexing his bare buttocks in a truly delightful manner. 

Mycroft’s eyes followed the arc of the top hat as it sailed back to the dancer’s hand, dropping his gaze lower as it was placed in a very strategic manner, covering the boy’s groin. And then his fingers unsnapped and plucked at the strings barely holding his modesty in place, flinging the scrap of fabric away as he turned back to his audience on the last beat of the music. 

He stood in the spotlight for a moment, smiling brightly as he soaked in his well-deserved applause. When the light cut out, he removed the top hat from where it had been covering him, waving it jauntily in the shadows as the applause turned to wolf-whistles and calls for more. Mycroft’s eyes followed the dimly lit figure as the dancer went to the back of the stage, disappearing behind the curtain. As the house lights came back on, he peeked out, his eyes searching through the crowd until he found Mycroft staring back at him. Licking his lips, the dancer gave him a little wink and tilted his head toward the back of the club in an unmistakable signal. 

Mycroft abruptly got to his feet, his chair screeching against the concrete floor in his haste. Giving no thought to his current condition, he dug in his pockets for a few notes, unceremoniously tossing them on the table. 

The head of their little party harrumphed, his face mottled with alcohol and enmity. “Oi, Holmes, where do you think you’re going?”

Mycroft smiled as blandly as he could as he tugged his waistcoat down. “Why, I’m off to get laid, of course. Do enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Giving no further thought to the whole noisome lot, he hurried past the bar, pausing as he heard a soft clearing of someone’s throat. Mycroft bit his lip as he met the bartender’s eyes, relieved to find mirth twinkling back at him, feeling another rush of heat in his belly as he too nodded toward the backstage door. 

Mycroft burst through, startling the next dancer that was preparing to head onstage, dressed in a ridiculously spangly cowboy outfit. He reached out to grasp Mycroft’s shoulders as he reared back, the apologies dying on his lips as the man laughed gently. He turned Mycroft in the right direction, stating, “Last door on the left.” With a little pat on Mycroft’s bum, he sent him on his way. “Go get ‘im, Tiger.”

Mycroft paused at the door, his mind reeling as he struggled with his innate sense of propriety. Despite his rather crass farewell to his colleagues, he had no idea what to expect when he walked through this door and he had absolutely no concept of what the proper behaviour in such a situation might entail. Taking in a deep breath as a certain part of his anatomy throbbed at him impatiently, Mycroft knocked twice and then let himself in after a moment’s pause.

His server, clad only in a very short black satin dressing gown, looked away from the mirror that he was standing in front of. He tossed aside the cloth that he had been using to wipe the stage makeup off with, his face breaking out into a truly delighted smile. 

“There you are. I was thinking that I might have to go and fetch you back here myself.”

Mycroft stammered as his svelte little dancer came sauntering closer, his fingers reaching for the lapels of his jacket, running down the length of his torso. “I c-can’t say that I... I m-mean that I...” Mycroft heaved out a sigh. “Oh bugger.”

The dancer laughed as he took a step closer, boldly throwing his arms around Mycroft’s neck. He shimmied in place as Mycroft’s hands came up to wrap around his hips, subconsciously pulling him in tighter to his body. “Never had someone throw their body at you quite shamelessly?”

Mycroft shrugged awkwardly. “Never had anyone show any kind of interest at all, really.”

The dancer blinked at him in vague disbelief, and something in his expression instantly set Mycroft’s mind at ease. He then became almost hyper-aware of the lithe body under his hands, a body that was writhing gently against his in an unfairly sensual manner. 

Looking up at him saucily, his large dark eyes merry and yet utterly serious, the dancer pulled him down until their lips nearly met. “I’m interested,” he whispered huskily. And then he kissed him. 

Mycroft made some kind of unseemly noise, he was sure of it, but he didn’t know if it was a sound of untamed desire, relief, mortification, or utter animal lust. Whatever it was, the man in his arms certainly seemed to appreciate it, his breath hitching excitedly as he pressed ever closer. 

When they finally broke apart for a breath of fresh air, Mycroft was quite startled to realise that he had two fistfuls of a truly luscious arse in his grip. 

The dancer laughed, low and dirty, flexing his buttocks as Mycroft shamelessly groped him. “Seems you might be interested too.”

Mycroft suddenly grinned. “Stellar observation, Ooh La La.”

“Oh Lord.” The dancer giggled faintly as he shook his head. “Gotta have a gimmick, y’know. It’s Greg, actually. Greg Lestrade.”

“Mycroft Holmes.”

Greg’s eyes twinkled. “Hullo, Mycroft.”

Mycroft once again squeezed at the firm muscle in his grip, smiling sharply as Greg grunted and thrust their hips together. “Hello indeed.”

Greg bit his lip coyly, his fingers playing with the hair at the back of Mycroft’s neck. “Just how indecent do you want to get here, my fine lad?”

Mycroft blinked gormlessly, his brain momentarily kicked offline. “I - er... Oh.”

They both froze as there was an indistinct clamour of voices in the corridor beyond, but then Greg spun free of Mycroft’s hold, reaching out to grab his hand and pulling him along behind him. They rushed past a line of lockers and around a corner, past a couple of shower stalls and an office, ending up sequestered away in a small supply room. 

Mycroft glanced around as the light came on, taking in boxes of liquor and glassware for the bar, extra paper napkins and bags of snacks. There was also a free-standing clothing rail practically overloaded with all kinds of sparkly costumes and accessories, including a few fluffy feather boas that unexpectedly caught Mycroft’s eye. 

He almost reached out to caress one until a soft snort from behind made him remember his purpose for even being in a storage cupboard in the first place. Mycroft turned around with an apology on his lips, only to have it die away as Greg slid a royal blue boa from the rack and threw it over his shoulders, rubbing it over his body sensuously. 

He gave Mycroft a look that damn near scorched the pants right off him. “I’ll wear anything you like, Myc.”

Mycroft swallowed hard, his brain suddenly reeling with unforeseen possibilities. “I’ll remember that.” He took in a deep breath to bolster his courage. “Right now, I’d r-rather like to see you in n-nothing at all.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, both boa and robe were discarded on the floor, and his little dancer stood before him, unashamedly nude and proudly erect. 

Mycroft’s mouth went quite dry as he looked upon him. “My God, but you’re beautiful. Michelangelo would have wept had he sculpted you.”

Greg flushed at his words as though he’d never heard them before, a concept that Mycroft frankly thought ludicrous. He subconsciously backed up as Greg advanced on him, all dusky skin and thoughtless sensual grace. Mycroft grunted quietly as his back hit the wall, and Greg’s face transformed from something of a hungry predator back into a carefree smile.

“Such a way with words you have.” Mycroft whimpered quietly as that naked body was pressed quite close to his, as Greg once again snaked his arms around his neck and pulled him into a deep, probing kiss. 

Momentarily gone breathless and mind blank, Mycroft squeaked faintly as some very impertinent fingers fondled his groin, feeling him out. Greg hummed with pleasure as he ground the heel of his palm into the base of Mycroft’s erection, pulling back slightly to grin up at him smugly. 

“This feels quite beautiful... Mind if I take a look?”

Mycroft could only shake his head, his tongue gone thick and useless in his mouth. Laughing quietly, Greg crouched before him, and Mycroft clutched at his heart as it seemed to stop in his chest. He focused on maintaining his breath at the sound of his zip being pulled down, squeaking again as Greg gently pulled him free from the restriction of his pants. 

_ “Ohh...” _ Mycroft felt his cock throb as Greg’s breath washed over it. He finally dared to look down and once again felt an alarming jump in his chest. Greg was eyeing him with intent as he licked his lips, and Mycroft found himself praying to a God that he didn’t even remotely believe in not to come right on the spot. 

He nearly went up on his tiptoes as Greg stroked him, a long, slow glide from root to tip. Greg made a show of holding up his hand, tilting it in the light so that Mycroft could see the sheen of his pre-ejaculate glistening on his fingers. Greg hummed low as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, his eyelashes fluttering beautifully. 

His eyes had darkened exponentially as he looked up at Mycroft, his expression hungry. “I want to suck you off, Mycroft.”

Mycroft felt his knees wobble even as his cock practically jumped for joy. “Why?” The word fell from his lips without him quite realising it, and everything in him wilted just a tiny bit.

Greg stared up at him incredulously for a moment before his features softened. “Because you encouraged me to step out of my comfort zone. Without knowing a single thing about me, you had faith in me anyway.”

Mycroft scoffed quietly. “I hardly think that telling you that I wanted to see you shake your arse was encouragement.”

“But it was!” Greg dropped his eyes briefly. “I’ve heard a lot of things in this place, but nobody’s ever asked me to dance for them before.”

“You were wonderful.”

Greg looked back up, his eyes sparkling. “And so are you.” He hurried on as Mycroft opened his mouth to protest. “You’re lovely, you are. So prim and proper but you blush so prettily and I want to make you feel good. I want to suck your cock because you deserve it, dammit.” He grinned as he reached out again, fondling Mycroft’s bollocks gently before running the back of one finger up the underside of his cock. “And you can’t tell me that this doesn’t want my mouth around it. It’s practically begging for it.”

Mycroft’s lips twisted up into a wry grin. “That it is, yes.” He shook out his fists, wiggling his fingers to bring blood back into them. Hesitating only a moment more, he reached out to brush Greg’s fringe from his face. Greg tilted his cheek into his touch and waited, his gaze solemn and patient. 

Mycroft bit his lip and nodded. 

His fingers slid through Greg’s hair as he eagerly leant forward, and Mycroft found that they fit very nicely around the back of his supplicant’s neck. He gave it a gentle squeeze as Greg fluttered his eyelashes up at him, and Mycroft fought to suppress his suddenly knowing smirk. 

While it was clear that the man on his knees before him had skills that Mycroft utterly lacked, it was also clear that his carnal experience wasn’t quite as extensive as he had played it up to be. And thank God, too, because had he been a consummate cock-sucking artist, Mycroft no doubt would have already lost all control. As it was, he was having a hard enough time staying upright, keeping his back firm against the wall as his legs trembled rather alarmingly. 

Although he was occasionally distracted with the odd flash of Greg’s pink tongue licking at the darkened head of his cock, Mycroft could barely tear his gaze away from those devilishly dark eyes. There was a determination in them that made something warm bloom in his chest, and Mycroft squirmed as it moved inevitably downward. The determination segued into glee as Mycroft’s fingers twitched against Greg’s neck, tightening down briefly. 

Mycroft tilted his head back and shook his head blindly as Greg’s hand sped up, twisting and squeezing, his hot mouth finally closing around him, sucking in tandem with his strokes. Greg mumbled something low in his throat, a contraction and a vibration that nearly sent Mycroft’s feet out from underneath him, but of course it was a demand that he could not ignore, and so he once again looked down, looked into those liquid chocolate eyes.

Mycroft gasped out some kind of warning, and Greg’s features lit up with triumph even as he pulled off, opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue as he continued to tug on the hard cock in his grip. The image was simply too much for Mycroft to take, and his hips kicked forward as he started to come, growling breathlessly as he painted that pretty pink tongue with his semen. 

Looking absurdly pleased with himself, Greg gently pulled at Mycroft all through his orgasm, drawing his tongue back into his mouth and making a show of swallowing. Mycroft growled again, simply beyond words as Greg tilted his head and once again flashed his tongue with a saucy wink. 

Then he released the sticky member in his grip and moved as if he was going to touch himself, and Mycroft grasped him by the shoulders and pulled him up.

“Oh, no you don’t. That’s mine.”

Greg laughed quietly even as he was spun to face the wall, obligingly bracing his hands against it. He spread his legs as Mycroft took hold of his hips, grinding his still-plump cock between those glorious arse-cheeks. Greg licked his lips as he glanced over his shoulder, a hint of desperation in his eyes.

“As you say. All yours.”

Mycroft paused for just a moment, blinking at the quiet sincerity in Greg’s voice. He bit down gently on his bare shoulder before sliding his right hand around and down, taking Greg’s sweet cock into his grip. Mycroft didn’t tease or dawdle, simply experimenting with various degrees of pressure as Greg thrust into his fist. He let him control the pace, grunting every time those firm cheeks flexed against his groin. Mycroft kissed his shoulder, nibbled on his neck and blew cool air into his sweaty hair as Greg moved, watching the tips of his fingers turn white where they were pressed against the wall. 

Greg gasped and moaned with every gentle touch, something in his rhythm starting to break apart. He twisted his torso and threw a look at Mycroft that made something sizzle in his spine, something wild and yearning and so utterly beautiful that he almost felt tears prick behind his eyes. 

“Myc - Mycroft, please, oh God...”

Mycroft took Greg’s face in his free hand and pulled him closer, kissing him with a ferocity that surprised even himself. Greg whimpered into his mouth even as he nodded slightly, stating his approval, vocalising his need without the use of words. Mycroft poured everything he had into the kiss as Greg trembled in his arms, shaking himself to bits. 

Mycroft loosened his grip as Greg stopped moving, oddly reluctant to let go of his rather sticky prize. He didn’t protest as Greg pulled out of his grip, especially since it was just to turn around for a proper snog. Greg’s hands were on his face, his fingers in his hair, his breath on his cheek and Mycroft never ever wanted the moment to end. 

He held his soiled hand away from temptation, and Greg snorted out a quiet laugh as he reached for a stack of paper napkins nearby. Mycroft presented him with the evidence of a job well done, delighting in the pink of Greg’s cheeks as he studiously wiped him clean. He put his lips to Greg’s temple as he softly kissed the tips of his fingers, breathing in the faint scent of greasepaint underneath that of an honest and well-earned sweat. 

“So what now?”

Greg turned pensive, focusing his attention on Mycroft’s fingers. “Well, that’s up to you.” He blinked as Mycroft gently tipped his face up, his eyes flicking down to his mouth and back up again. “This could be a one and done - we both had our fun, right? Doesn’t really have to be anything more than that.”

He bit his lip as Mycroft moved closer, tracing over Greg’s cheek with one finger. “Or?”

Greg’s breath hitched in his chest. “Or - you take me out to dinner and we get to know each other a little bit better.” He grinned suddenly, his natural charm putting the twinkle back in his eye. “And then you take me back to yours, and we get to know each other a _ lot _ better.” 

Mycroft found himself giggling against Greg’s lips, sliding his arms around him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I like that second option.” 

Greg hummed as he pulled Mycroft down into him, sealing the deal with another kiss. “Me too.” He glanced up, playing coy even as he ground their naked groins together. “Should probably get out of here before another urge strikes. Need a bed for what I’m planning on doing to you next.”

“Christ.” Mycroft ducked down and retrieved the black robe, holding it out as Greg slipped his arms into it. “Should make you decent first, don’t you think?” 

Greg hummed from behind him as Mycroft tucked himself back into his trousers, putting his ear to the door to ensure that the coast was clear before they left their hiding spot. He froze as he looked back, watching as Greg slowly ran his fingers through the feather boa that was now wrapped around his neck. 

Greg winked as Mycroft gaped, gently pushing him out of the way and pulling the door open. He sauntered past, twirling one end of the boa as he moved. “Perhaps we should do takeaway instead? Get back to yours soonest?”

Mycroft grinned, subtly adjusting himself as he followed his delightful little tart out into the changing room, his head spinning and cock buzzing in anticipation. “Whatever you say, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd or brit-picked. Characters not mine, but the situation definitely is!
> 
> If you'd like to get notifications and miscellany from tumblr, I'm at 'bitemebat.tumblr.com'. My activity there has slowed considerably since the Great Purge, but I also set up another tumblr just for notifications and other writerly stuff at 'sanguisugaao3.tumblr.com'.
> 
> I seem to be mostly active on twitter now, although the system confuses me and I really don't post much. But still, if you'd like to follow, I'm @sanguisugaao3 there!
> 
> (I'm also over on Pillowfort.io if anyone out there is giving them a shot - as 'sanguisuga'. Same handle on Dreamwidth, but I must confess that I don't do much on either site.)


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